Molten Flat

The woodcutter had traveled far from his home in Bacchus’ Haven to come to the temple at Molten Flat. The priests had greeted him warmly on his arrival, speaking politely as they brought him to the ritual chamber, where they removed his clothing and led him into a bath warmed by the lava flow along with several other participants. There, they washed his body before drying him off and smoothing warm, scented oil over his skin, their hands as strong and assertive over his shoulders and arms as they were over the now-throbbing erection that they said nothing about. The woodcutter thought he saw a smile playing about the lips of the priest who handled him roughly, rubbing the oil into cock and balls. Next, he was laid upon a plinth of stone, and the same priest began the first phase of the ritual. He began smearing small droplets of wax onto the woodcutter’s body, then tugging it free, removing any hair along with it. The woodcutter drew sharp breath at the jolts of pain, followed up by a persistent stinging. The sensations of pain were almost cleansing, and though he found it difficult to remain still at the beginning, when it was all done, he wished it could continue. The priest, still slyly smiling, rubbed the woodcutter’s body with another round of soothing oil, lingering on his still hard cock almost nonchalantly at first. When the woodcutter leaned back against the unyielding stone, groaning in pleasure, the priest began to stroke in earnest. At the last moment, before the woodcutter found release, the priest pressed his hand against the still-stinging skin that until today had always been a thicket of hair, but now was smooth as a bird’s egg. At the twisting pressure of that expert hand, along with the flawless rhythm with which the other hand applied the oil, the woodcutter finally lost control, spending his seed high into the air. The priest smiled softly, self-satisfied now. “You should rest. Tomorrow we begin the second phase, and it will be more taxing than the first.” Drifting on a pleasant cloud of endorphins, the woodcutter slept peacefully, despite the cold stone beneath him.